Sam's not a Sasquatch
by Links6
Summary: Try hunting Zombies when you're 3-feet tall? Not fun. Good thing Dean's there to help! ... physically de-aged!Sam and later some sick!hurt!Sammy too. As a bonus: some awesome!bigbrother!Dean coming your way! Updated!
1. Shorty's and Photos

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.

AN1: Alright then, we've got a physically de-aged!Sam coming up… maybe some sick!Sam and hurt!Sam too… I haven't really written anything Sam-related… so I'm going to make this a Sam-liciousfanfic to make up for it ;)

AN2: I haven't actually been in the mood for writing the past few months… but this bunny just slapped me from nowhere and wouldn't leave me alone. Good thing too, I was getting worried my Writer's Block was permanent! LOL

AN3: This fic is more about the issues of trying to continue hunting and trying to adjust than anything else. A shameless excuse for big brother!Dean and later some protective!Dean too, just for good measure! Enjoy!

Takes place after 2x04 "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"

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><p>.<p>

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**Sam's not a Sasquatch**

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**Chapter 1:**

_Shorty's and Photos_

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"Dean?"

The older Winchester brother frowned deeply in his sleep. Not because of the fact that his little dream –a Miami fling with Lana Lang- was disrupted… but because his little brother's voice sounded a little too 'little'. Dean's one eye snapped open, trying –for the most part- to stay in dreamland for as long as humanly possible but also not trying to neglect Sam.

But, it's impossible to do both.

Especially when Sam's three foot tall, holding up his boxers with both hands since the article was about seven sizes too big for him.

And that's something Dean doesn't witness often anymore, at least not for the past two decades...

Sam's _always _taller. He's been taller since he turned thirteen. TEEN-hood. And Dean was eighteen at that point, on the verge of graduating. And that just sucked. He was picking Sam up from Junior school and _he _was in Highschool. And they were BOTH the same damned height.

At first it was OK. They could swap clothes, trade shirts and stuff. Sam even took a liking to Dean's sports jacket and practically wore it every day. And then it got to be a pain in the ass. Sam kept growing and out growing his clothes and Dean was stunted, left to incarcerate Sam's lanky left-overs since he hadn't grown a single inch in over a year.

But now?

"What the hell happened?" Sam asks in his now-squeaky voice, more to himself than Dean. His owlish eyes shining and cheeks pink. It almost looked like he was about to cry.

At this point Dean's sure he's dreaming, since Sam's trying to locate his cell on top of the drawers in the corner, but he's not tall enough to actually _see _the top. He ends up blindly patting the top of the cabinet to try and feel where it is. "Where's my phone?" he snaps, now taking to bouncing up and down to get a look of the top of his bed.

Dean's eyes follow him as he jumps. Up down. Up down. Up down, up down. Up down. Weird.

Sam swings around, a comical frown on his face. "Will you help me?" he demands with a pout punctuating his sentence.

"Heheh… uh… how?" Dean mutters, sitting up with a half-smile on his face.

"I don't know… call Ellen… call Bobby…." Sam says, looking almost as if he's about to throw a tantrum.

"Alright, alright….. chill," Dean says, instantly remembering that he always used to say that whenever Sam got this way as a kid. Deja picks up his cell and dials Bobby. Who dials Ellen. Who dials Jo. Who callsSam.

"Yes, I'm fine and I'm frickin' three-feet tall!" Sam says with a huff, "Bobby says it'll last until the next full moon since the spell was cast with Wolfsbane… no, it's not good… the last full moon was three days ago… … yeah…"

Dean grabs his phone,snaps open his cell and takes a picture of Sam's pouting face. He saves the picture , keeping in mind how very useful this blackmail will be. A twenty-three year old pouting?Priceless.

Sam shoots him a glare and takes in a deep breath, "Yeah… Dean's _loving_ this… hahaha… yeah, for once he is taller!" –which earns Sam a pillow to the head.

Dean shuffles off his head and stalks to the kitchen. He grabs a beer from the fridge and pops the top. He doesn't bother grabbing one for Sam too, oh no, the kid's underage now.

"Right…. Thanks…. We will…. No, I won't send you a picture," Sam says with a warning tone and hangs up.

"Just did…." Dean grins, snapping his phone shut and jumping back on his bed.

Sam rubs his head with a groan. He ruffles his hair agitatedly and rests his head on his arms. When Sam doesn't move, Dean's big-brother instinct kick in and he moves over to Sam's bed. "Hey…. You okay, dude?" Dean asks,resting his hand on Sam's back. The kid's shaking.

"I-I'm fine." Sam says, suddenly hiccupping.

"Have I ever told you you're such a girl?" Dean says, rubbing Sam's back in small circles. He pats his brother's back a few times when the younger Winchester sniffles. He can't remember the last time he's done this.

Sam wipes his nose on the material in front of him, startling when the material moves and he realises it was the sleeve of Dean's long-sleeved shirt.

Dean doesn't fuss though, he just smiles and ruffles the rest of his sleeve over Sam's face before walking off. That's how men dry tears, right?

The older Winchester paused for a moment, cocking his head over his shoulder, "Just because you're short doesn't mean we stop hunting, bro… tomorrow we go hunt us some zombies!"

"It's just a poltergeist…"

"Bite me. Zombies sounded cooler…."

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><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading!<em>**

**_Please drop me a review or pm if you liked it :D_**

_Coming up next:Tazers and Princesses! Whoo!_

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	2. Tazers and Princesses

_Try reaching the light-switch, top shelf of a cupboard, climbing stairs, walking across town or tossing a duffel of weapons around when you're three-feet tall. It's not fun. Even worse when you're a Hunter, trying to take down a couple of Zombies who're invading a town! It sucks to be Sam. … physicallyde-aged!Sam later some sick!hurt!Sam just for good measure. worried! awesome! bigbrother!Dean coming your way!_

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.

Takes place after 2x04 "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"

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><p>.<p>

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**Sam's not a Sasquatch**

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**Chapter 2:**

_Tazers and Princesses_

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That morning Dean decides it time for him to go a-shopping. He manages to convince Sam not to go along with a "Can't have you walking around naked…. Well… I could, but then you'll get all the attention," he also throws in the fact that having Sam walk around in clothes that are about ten sizes too big is embarrassing to Dean. And, _that _made it Dean's responsibility to go and buy Sam some new –albeit temporary- clothes.

Somehow, it kinda got Sam excited too. New clothes for the first time in like three years. It's like the first Christmas when you stop believing in Santa. No more toys, just clothes. Only, now, it's not a downer.

Well… it wasn't until Dean got back with a bag full of second-hand store kiddy-specials that Sam's excitement seemed to spiral downwards. Knock-off Batman, Spiderman and Handy Manny t-shirts. And worse, matching sneakers and elastic band- jeans…

Dean drops the bags of clothes on Sam's bed and heads over to the small coffee table with the diner take-out. Good thing too, Sam wasn't sure how much more he can listen to "I can't wait to try that diner again… they're cheeseburger… delicious" and then, Dean would go on to compare their awesomeness to…. Well… almost everything. For instance, Jennifer Love-Hewitt in Ghost Whisperer .

"Ugh…. What _is _this?" Sam mutters and holds up a pair of electric green sneakers. "Velcro straps … are you serious?"

Dean grins and opens the bag with the Styrofoam containers of take-out he got from the diner. "Sorry… I thought you might have trouble with laces with your itty bitty hands," he quips, wriggling his fingers in the air momentarily for effect.

"You couldn't pick anything less … stupid?"

"Why didn't you go along then, Samantha?"

Sam quirks an eyebrow and stares down to his feet. He's got his old Stanford T-shirt on and… that's it. The thing's hanging down to about an inch from the floor and what's worse, Sam's not budging. The way he figures, he'll just have to make due with super-baggy clothes… considering the alternative, that idea wasn't half bad.

"What's the matter, don't like Batman anymore?" Dean says, walking over and grabbing the sneakers from Sam's hands. He ripped the tags off the sneakers he bought with one elegant move. He then, proceeded to throw them –not so elegantly- one at a time at Sam: the one hitting Sam in the stomach, the other grazing the top of his head.

"You're crazy!" Sam yelled, grabbing one of the sneakers, flinging it back at Dean. Unfortunately, not being 6-feet tall anymore has its disadvantages. One of them being, he's not as strong as he was. The projectile sneaker landed softly next to Dean's foot.

"Stop complaining, bitch!" Dean says, kicks the shoe to the side and laughs heartedly.

It takes a while for Sam to oblige and finally rummage through the clothes and arrange them accordingly. He figured, if he was going to be stuck in a short-bus body for the next four weeks, he might as well do it properly. He manages to wrangle one of John's old army duffels from the trunk of the Impala and squeezes all his 'old six-four tall body' clothes into it. He drags the duffel back to the trunk and buries it right at the back of the trunk. Twenty-five days is a long time for a Hunter.

He decides to pack out all his equipment, weapons and gear, throwing out the ones he won't be able to handle easily. It's the first time he realized that Dean was actually serious when he argued once that he had "a height disadvantage" when they were sparring together, a year before Stanford. Before Jess. Before Dad... He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts and brought them back to the present. And at present, it was seriously a disadvantage not being able to handle a Desert Eagle easily. And that just blows.

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"This is ridiculous! I can't even hold my own gun!" Sam whines for the sixth time tonight. And they're not even out of the motel yet. The Taurus 92 he's currently holding is the size of his head and he has to hold it in both hands. "There's no way I can shoot this, Dean!"

"Maybe we should get you a Noisy Cricket like in Men in Black," Dean quips, snapping the magazine back into his COLT 1911 A1 with ease. "Hmm?"

Sam narrows his eyes and shakes his head. "_Very funny."_

"I can get you a tazer?" Dean says, reaching into his bag, shuffling around for a bit before emerging with the aforementioned tazer, "Here you go, princess."

Sam eyes the tazer before huffing and flipping the safety on his gun. He practically pouts as he checks the rest of his gear. He hates the fact that his new jeans only come with elastic, his t-shirts all have logos and weird photos on them and his shoes are all Technicolor rejects –all Dean's pick by the way.

"…Jerk…" he mutters dejectedly.

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It's an hour later, when Dean's digging the grave and Sam's holding the miniature scale-shovel, that it's not funny anymore. Sam's been leaning on his for the past ten minutes and Dean finding it harder to keep the sunny disposition going. Since being warped back to Kindergarten, Sam's stamina and strength has literally minimized –along with the rest of him.

"You still alive, Sammy-boy?" Dean yells, flinging a shovel of dirt over his shoulder without looking.

Sam startles awake when the muddy-mess hits the side of his leg, "What? Yeah…"

Dean stops shovelling and turns around. He gives Sam a once-over and frowns, "Go lie down," he says and turns back, resuming shovelling as if he hadn't stopped.

Sam yawns widely, but quickly forces a cough to cover the sound, "No, I'm okay… " he yawns again and shakes his head to get himself to wake up.

"Seriously, you're-" Dean starts up with a yawn but ends up growling instead, "DAMNIT! You're making me tired! Go lie down!"

The younger Winchester mumbles under his breath, something he hadn't done since twelve, as he shuffles back to the Impala. He clambers into the Impala and slams the door shut, earning a warning glare from his older brother. It doesn't take too long though, Sam's head's drooping and he nods off against the headrest a few minutes later. His head lolls against the headboard and he ends up snoring with his mouth open. Not exactly picturesque, but nonetheless adorable.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Please drop me a review or pm if you liked it :D**

_Coming up next: Torches and Sneezes! Gesundheit!_


	3. Torches and Sneezes

_Try reaching the light-switch, top shelf of a cupboard, climbing stairs, walking across town or tossing a duffel of weapons around when you're three-feet tall. It's not fun. Even worse when you're a Hunter, trying to take down a couple of Zombies who're invading a town! It sucks to be Sam. … physicallyde-aged!Sam later some sick!hurt!Sam just for good measure. worried! awesome! bigbrother!Dean coming your way!_

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.

Takes place after 2x04 "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"

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><p>.<p>

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**Sam's not a Sasquatch**

**Chapter 3:**

_Torches and Sneezes_

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It takes half an hour but Dean finally finished up digging the grave. He breaks open the coffin with the shovel but kicks open the stubborn blocks. He's not exactly doing the LMFAO-shuffle-dance when there is an astounding lack of bones visible, or anything.

He stabs the shovel into the ground, gets down on all fours and sticks his head into the coffin just to be sure. Not even a sulphur smell or rats for company. He glances over but all he sees is black-nothingness. He fumbles in jacket for his pocket-torch but comes up empty.

Sighing, he takes his time to climb out of the hole, his jeans and shirt covered in dirt by the time he manages to make his way out. His breath comes out in foggy bursts and he wipes at his forehead. He decides to take his time to trudge back to the Impala. At least it's not raining.

He smiles when he spots Sam sleeping in the car. He leans in softly, lifts up his hand and knocks hard on the window.

Sam startles awake, trying to reach for his knife and flashlight at the same time. He quickly notices the grinning Dean next to his door and throws him the bird. Dean smiles victoriously.

The older Winchester mimes flicking on the torch and Sam start looking around while Dean heads over to Driver's seat. "Anything, shorty?" Dean asks as he opens the door.

"That's not fair… I never made any jokes about your height…" Sam mumbles while rummaging through the glove compartment. He groans when his hand hits a squishy… something. He hunches over, slightly shocked about how easy it was now that he's smaller, and takes a look, "What the hell is that?"

"Oh…. Haven't cleaned out my baby yet, just … uh, leave it there…" Dean says off-handily while he searches through the consoles.

About two week ago, Dean was off on a solo hunt to help out Bobby in South Dekota while Sam was finishing up the hunt they were both on in Goodland, Kansas. Dean met up again with Sam in Grand Island in Nebraska, with Sam having to catch a bus meet up with him.

That's why Sam just leaves the musty squishy… thing… where it is and shuts the glove box. No telling where or when Dean had bought _it. _And he's pretty sure he might get a Dengue if he doesn't disinfect his hand in the next five minutes.

"Fuck…." Dean mutters, suddenly sitting upright with a disgruntled look on his face.

Sam was about to ask what when he looks down.

Dean's got his hand on his jeans and with a sigh he sticks his hand in his pocket and emerges with the pocket-torch. "Got it," he mutters with an I-know-so-don't-rub-it-in smile on his face.

When Sam starts chuckling Dean shines the torch in his face. The younger hunter grunts but doesn't lose his smile. It's a great sight to see. Especially since neither of them seem to do much smiling after burying John's tags at Mary's grave only a few months ago.

Sam tags along when Dean walks back to the grave, albeit at a five-yards back-distance. Somehow, being stuck in an adolescent body made everything a bit more scary. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that he probably won't be able to tackle anything and everything like he used to. Especially since, at the moment, anything and everything is larger and stronger than him. And that's a novel feeling.

Dean jumps into the grave, gets down on all-fours and shines the torch into the grave.

"See anything?" Sam asks, not edging closer to the grave. He's pretty sure, if he falls down into that hole, he won't be able to get out of it alone, at least, not until the next full moon when the spell wears off. And then, it'll be super-awkward 'cause he's pretty sure the clothes he's wearing now won't be able to fit him afterwards… and then he'll have to streak through half the town to get to the Motel. Not his type of jogging-session.

He hears a creak of wood from the coffin, but then, a stature emerges from the grave. "NNOOOoooo…" a gravelly voice spits out, a light revealing its bony structure.

Sam backtracks, screaming. He grabs his knife from his back pocket, ready to defend himself. The thrumming of his heart in his ears halts though when hears Dean's laughter as it rings through the cemetery.

"Hahaha…. wuss," Dean smiles and shines the torch in Sam's face like before as he changes his voice to sound just as grisly as before, "Didn't you like my Freddy Kruger voice?"

"You're such a jerk!" Sam grunts, getting up. Any last traces of sleep wiped from his mind, "…. Did you see anything?".

"… other than a three-foot shaking Chihuahua? Hahaha…." Dean's cheery demeanour suddenly turns serious, "Grave's empty. Thing broke through the foot-end of the coffin… it looks like it must've happen quite a while back though… at least a week... is it just me, or is this alot like that zombie-fest we had a few months back? ... with that psycho zombie chick and her cheating bastard of a boyfriend?"

"So we seriously _are _going zombie hunting?" Sam says, a slight quiver lining his words. He's not looking forward to hunting things that don't die when shot thrice. Or four times. In the head.

"Told ya!" Dean quips, grabbing the shovel from the ground, "Catch."

Sam catches the tossed torch and shoves it in his jacket pocket. He waits until Dean's out of the hole before starting to the car. He hates the fact that he has to make twice as many strides than before. It's even worse when Dean ruffles his hair and passes him. Damn long legs.

Sam suddenly sneezes, the sound almost sounding like he just got punched in the ribs.

"Don't get sick," Dean warns, popping the trunk of the Impala and stamps the shovel against the gravel a few times to get rid of the dirt before tossing it inside.

"I'm not sick..."

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><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>_

_**Please drop me a review or pm if you liked it :D**_

_Coming up next: Fevers and Flying Pigs! Zoinks!_


	4. Fevers and Flying Pigs

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.

AN1: Alright then, we've got a physically de-aged!Sam coming up… maybe some sick!Sam and hurt!Sam too… I haven't really written anything Sam-related… so I'm going to make this a Sam-licious fanfic to make up for it ;)

AN2: I haven't actually been in the mood for writing the past few months… but this bunny just slapped me from nowhere and wouldn't leave me alone. Good thing too, I was getting worried my Writer's Block was permanent! LOL

AN3: This fic is more about the issues of trying to continue hunting and trying to adjust than anything else. A shameless excuse for big brother!Dean and later some protective!Dean too, just for good measure! Enjoy!

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><p>.<p>

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_**Fevers and Flying Pigs**_

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Sam's mouth is opening and closing continuously, looking on a dime like a goldfish. Each time he opens and closes his mouth a small crackling noise escapes him, proof that this infection had gone on for a while.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asks sleepily when he rolls over and spots Sam.

"Nothing," Sam snaps nasally.

"I told you not to get sick," Dean growls, covering his head with his arm to muffle out the noise.

Sam narrows his eyes and makes sure to sniffle harder than the previous time just to irritate Dean, "Ugh…" he clears his throat, suddenly regretting his revenge when it sends a spike of pain through his throat and rubs his throat, "Do we have something for this?"

"Not unless you want to OD… we don't have meds for kids," Dean says and a grin pulls on the corner of his lips, "… kid."

"But this _really _sucks…" Sam moans, looking as pathetic as possible. It's a long time since he's been able to use that card.

Dean shrugs and rolls over, but decides to head to the store later to get some children's Nyquil or something. "Go to sleep, Sasq…." Dean pauses and decides to pose a yawn instead to save Sam the humiliation of being reminded that he's actually been cursed and that it isn't really something to joke about. It might actually _be _permanent.

Sam couldn't help but feel a bit grateful for that. He muffles his sneeze with his shirt and finally lies back against his pillows.

It's not strange for either of them to be awake at 3am in the morning, but Sam just _knows _that if he's going to stay awake any longer that he'll be half-asleep the rest of the day. He hasn't forgotten yet that he was never a night-owl as a kid. He switches off the bedside lamp and turns on his side.

"Night, Dean," he says finally, suddenly aware of just how young his voice really sounds.

"Night, dude," Dean mumbles back, flipping over to lie on his stomach.

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Dean wakes up at five that morning, not exactly feeling refreshed, but nonetheless wide awake. He sighs and sits up. A yawn escapes him, but he takes his time to revel in it, feeling slightly annoyed that he couldn't actually sleep through until morning. He looks over to Sam, but Sam's still asleep and snoring.

The older Winchester swings his legs over to the side of his bed, not bothering to switch on the lamp.

Sam's still sleeping by the time he's dressed. Dean grabs the keys to the Impala, "Sam?"

The younger brother mumbles a 'yes' in his sleep, but doesn't even move a muscle.

Dean walks over to flick Sam on the nose to get him to get up, but he couldn't help but notice Sam's got a rash on his neck, arms…

"What's this?"

Sam takes in a deep breath and opens his eyes, "What's what?" he asks, rolling out his stiff neck. The pillows are too big for him now.

"Looks like a rash…. Were you near poison Oak, or something?" Dean asks, pulling on Sam's shirt to get a look of his stomach. The rash's spread to down there too. Tiny ruby-coloured spots. It was like a bad dye-job.

"No?"

Dean palms Sam's forehead but comes up empty, "You don't have a fever…?" he says with a frown, "You allergic to the bedspread or something?"

This time it's Sam turn to frown, "Look, just because I'm stuck in a seven-year-old body doesn't mean I'm suddenly allergic and susceptible to everything," he snapped and shook his head disapprovingly, "…but… you're right… I'm _am _a kid again so maybe it's just some weird kid's rash…"

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The older Winchester's not buying it and ten minutes later the both of them are standing in the clinic, waiting to be checked out. Dean's got the fidgets, but Sam's just rubbing his neck… and head…. And neck… and…

"Would you stop that?" Dean growls, his leg bouncing up and down.

"Sorry. Ugh…" Sam groans and rubs at his head again, "Those pillows are so friggen lumpy… I think my whole back is in spasm…"

"You know, you're really whiney since you've tu-" Dean stops when he spots the clinic nurse approaching him, "….. uuurrned eight. You should really grow up", he finishes off and glares at Sam for a split-second for effect. He looks up and waggles his eyebrows, "Kids, right?"

The woman's eyebrow quirked, "Mr. Wahl?" she asks.

Dean's thankful that the clinic doesn't charge for check-ups, but he made sure to count out his Washington's before heading out that morning. The town's small and the chemist won't accept credit cards or anything of the sort. He'll have to cough up if Sam needs meds.

"…Looks like German Measles…" the doctor says not seven minutes later.

"….. German Measels?" Dean repeated, not able to stop himself from turning pale.

Sam had measles when he was a kid. Six, at that. Spiked fevers. Vomiting. Headaches. The crying. It was like a nightmare, but… it lasted longer and it was a lot more painful. John jumped in the car when Dean had called, but was stuck in traffic with roadworks upon roadworks on the National roads. By the time John was home, Sam was past his sixth spike and Dean was fighting to stay awake and keep his own cold away from Sam at the same time. They took a break from hunting for almost two months. It wasn't as fun as it sounded.

The doctor was empathetic though, "Now, before you get worried, it's like the original Measels virus… but _much_ less severe… the rash has small spots instead of the larger splotches, the fever is less severe… rarely spiking over 101… the glandular pain rarely is felt beyond the neck and armpit area…" he informs them and hangs the stethoscope around his neck.

Dean's not too happy with the diagnosis though, "How it he get it? He's had measles before…"

"It's not the same thing, Dean," Sam snaps, having to manoeuvre himself off the bed and unto the tiny steps before stepping down to the floor. Who knew he'd start to develop a weird fear of heights too?

"These are two very different diseases… comparing them would be like comparing swimming with sharks in the sea to watching your goldfish swim in its bowl," the man said and laughed. "I'll prescribe something for the fever and pain… but it'll own wither out on its own in about two weeks…"

"Am I contagious?" Sam asks, sitting on the chair next to Dean. His feet dangling off the floor. It's weird to be able to kick your feet around.

"Yes… but, don't worry. Two weeks will fly by and you'll be able to play with your friends at school soon," the man said and smiled as he handed Dean the prescription, "Smart kid you have there, sir."

"Yea… Sam's always… oh… wait, no, he's not my …. _Kid… _he's my brother," Dean catches himself and grins sheepishly.

"Brother?" the doctor repeats and eyes the height difference and age in the report. He shrugs. He's seen much worse, "Alright then, nice to meet you."

The pair of brothers leave the clinic and Sam's been awarded a red Spiderman sucker for 'being so well-behaved'.

"… I guess it's not all that bad?" Sam asks, scratching the back of his neck as he eyes the candy, "Free gifts are always good?"

"Yeah…" Dean agrees with a smile and waits until Sam's popped the sucker into his mouth before continuing: "Now you finally get to suck on Spiderman!"

Somehow the lollipop ended in the parking lot trashcan.

They decide to walk over to the chemist, since driving there'll just waste gas they can't afford at this point. It's a gravel stretch of road and few cars driving lazily by. A couple of townspeople even offered to give them a ride, but they just smile, wave and keep walking. But, it doesn't take long for Dean to start regretting that decision.

"Dean…" Sam abruptly shrieks, grabbing a hold of Dean's leather jacket with one hand and his hand reaching into the back of his jeans for his Taurus with the other, "There's something there…"

The older Winchester looks down, spots Sam's serious face. He looks up and scans the area, eyes trained for anything Supernatural.

"See it?" Sam says, now pointing to the tree, "It's there!"

The pair of them backtrack into the shrubs on the roadside, both drawing their guns.

"I don't see it… where is it?" Dean says after a while, looking down at Sam. The kid's face is pale, his cheeks a bright red and his eyes glossy. Damn fever.

"It's a werewolf…. It's right there…" Sam growls dangerously, his eyes fixed on whatever his fever's latched onto.

"_Ahh hell_…" Dean murmurs, lowering the sight of his Colt. He actually forgot how easily Sam used to get hallucinations and night terrors whenever his fever was up as a kid…. He's not looking forward to the next few days.

Especially since they'll have to interview three of the victims this afternoon.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

Please drop me a review or pm if you liked it :D

Coming up next: Chemistry and Zombie-hunting! Yarr!

(Who's up for a bit loopy!Sam ?)


	5. Chemistry and Zombie hunting

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.

AN1: Alright then, we've got a physically de-aged!Sam coming up… maybe some sick!Sam and hurt!Sam too… I haven't really written anything Sam-related… so I'm going to make this a Sam-licious fanfic to make up for it ;)

AN2: I haven't actually been in the mood for writing the past few months… but this bunny just slapped me from nowhere and wouldn't leave me alone. Good thing too, I was getting worried my Writer's Block was permanent! LOL

AN3: This fic is more about the issues of trying to continue hunting and trying to adjust than anything else. A shameless excuse for big brother!Dean and later some protective!Dean too, just for good measure! Enjoy!

Takes place after 2x04 "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"

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><p>.<p>

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_**Chemistry and Zombie-hunting**_

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It's only ten past six by the time they reach the chemist and the 'closed' sign is still hanging in plain few. Dean's the only one who recons it was stupid to expect a small town to have a 24-hour chemist. He can't help but remind Sam that only actual _cities _have 24-hour medical facilities. _You ain't in Stanford anymore, Dorothy. _

"We can get some breakfast?" Sam suggests finally, eyeing the diner a few blocks away.

"Yeah…" Dean resigns, telling himself to revel in the fact that Sam's fever seemed to be receding – for now. He eyed the closed sign one more time before taking off. _If there was a way to break in without being noticed… _He's seriously not looking forward to running around with a fever-hallucinating-Sam the whole morning.

It takes them longer than usual to walk four blocks and they're not even halfway there when Sam starts lagging. "You okay, dude?" Dean asks, unconsciously slowing his pace without even meaning to.

"Yeah, yeah…" Sam growls back, trying to get his short legs to match Dean's longer strides. Which isn't working out too well.

That carried on for another block until Sam finally stops, "Geez, you'd think they'd have a taxi here!" he snaps angrily, "_O! Shit, watch out… _"

Dean has to dodge an invisible hole in the pavement and has to hoist Sam in a dead-lift over "the hole" as well. _Damn fever. Damn hallucinations. Damnit Sammy!_

"Thanks, Dean," Sam says, flushed and breathing hard, "You'd think they'd cover up a man-hole like that if it's in the middle of nowhere…."

Dean sighs, turns back to his little brother, wrestles internally for a few moments before finally walking over to Sam and hoisting up unto his arm, "Say a word, and I'll end you," Dean says and keeps right on walking.

Sam's bright red, but doesn't say a word. At least, this time it's not because of the fever.

When they finally reach the diner, a couple patrons glance their way but no-one really finds it interesting enough to forgo their caffeine-intake for._ A sick kid and his dad. Damn shame the kid doesn't have a mom._

Sam frowns deeply at that single line, but doesn't bother to mention it.

Dean knows.

The diner has the old kind of legit-diner feel to it. Cosy cushioned seats, bar stools lining the counter. Booths lined up at the walls. Cosy. The only out-of-place to this was the fact that the radio has an iPod docking station and 24 was on the tube.

The older brother lets Sam slide down his arm before straightening up, "Let's get a booth… we're going to be here a while," Dean says and pushes Sam towards the booth in the corner.

They keep their heads down and practically slink towards the booth, sliding in once they reached it. "Damn nosey townsies," Dean growls, purposely turning his back on them as he hunches over the table.

"Relax, Dean… they're just curious," Sam placates instinctively, rubbing at his eyes.

"Good morning! Oh! Hello, handsome!" a young waitress greets as she stands at their table with a smile on her face.

"Well, hello-" Dean starts but pauses when he spots the young woman fawning over Sam.

"What's a good looking guy like you doing here?" she teases and winks at him, "You on holiday, sweetheart?"

Sam, beet-red and trying to dissolve into the seat, just kind of hides his face in the menu the moment she hands him one. "Thanks you… and, not on holiday, just passing through…" he says, his voice barely a whisper.

"You look kinda sick though, been through some Poison Oak there, hon?" she asks, finally noticing Sam's …._er… condition._

"He's got a wussy's version of Measles," Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows.

"Oh…. Ouch… poor little guy," the waitress says and glances out the window for a moment, "And the chemist doesn't open until nine… …. Well… you can stay here for as long as you want."

"Sure?"

"'Course!" she smiles, and holds her pencil and notepad ready, "Now, what'll you have?"

"Miner's breakfast with some coffee…" Dean reads off the menu and gives Sam a side-glance, "Dude?"

"Oh, yeah, um… I'll have the… um…. " Sam let rips a sneeze and buries his face in his Superman tee, "Can I have a salad and french vanilla latte, please?"

"All outta "s'il vout plaît", will a normal latte do?"

"Sure."

The waitress raises surprised eyebrows but smiles nonetheless, "Alright then," she says and finishes scribbling on her notepad, "I'll be right back with your drinks!"

When the waitress leaves, Dean shakes his head and rests his head in his hands, "Ugh… I thought _I _was the handsome one?" he says and stares at Sam through his hands, "Sick, fever, look like hell, three-foot tall and you _still _get the girl…"

"Can't help it," Sam says with a grin, "Now, _I'm_ the adorable one."

Dean just growls at him and narrows his eyes, "Feels like I'm Alice in Wonderland."

"Why?"

"… just 'cause," Dean says finally and reluctantly smiles as he rubs his brow. _Ahh… sweet irony. _

Sam starts yawning not a minute later and, even before their drinks arrive, Sam's asleep. And, not a light dozing sleep either. The full blown, stretched-over-the-entire-seat asleep.

"Aww… looks like he was a bit tired," the young woman says when she finally arrives with Sam's latte and Dean's coffee.

Two hours later…

"Dean! There're spiders on the roof!" Sam yells, grabbing onto Dean's leg – something he stopped doing when he was four.

Dean looks up, but sighs when there's nothing but whirring ceiling fans and some dusted remains of cobwebs on the pharmacy ceiling. He doesn't disagree or agree with Sam. If he disagrees Sam'll only retort, if he agrees Sam'll freak_. Catch 22._

"Dean! Watch out!" Sam yells, pulling on Dean's leg, causing him to take a double-step to regain his balance.

"Thanks, Sam, those spiders almost got me…" Dean's monotonous reply came.

They finally reach the counter and Sam's trying to get some imaginary landmine off his shoe. "Geez, you'd think people would pick up after their damned dogs," Sam growls, doing a moonwalk doing the aisle now.

"Oh, oh! _Somebody said da d-word!_" the greying woman at the counter said in a teasing tone.

The brothers spare each other a meaningful glance, but only Dean turns back to talk to the woman.

"Uh…" Dean glances at the nametag before plastering on his charming-grin, "Hey… Rodney…? _Really_?"

"Don't knock it, I still have nightmares 'bout getting' teased in highschool," the fifty-something woman said and winked, "So, what can I do ya'll for?"

Slightly thrown by the name, and even more so by the friendliness, Dean pauses long enough for the woman to start frowning, "Something for German Measles… " Dean says, although he sounds unsure himself. He hands over the prescription.

"Hmm-hmm… hmm… ohhhkie!" she mutters while reading through the note, "Well, Dr. Frohman said get you some analgesic and anti-pyretic… oh!". The woman smiles and points to Sam, "something for the nausea."

"Nausea?" Dean mumbles as he turns towards Sam. Good thing too, 'cause Sam's about to backwash all over Rodney's nice clean floor. Dean grabs the kidney bowl on the counter –much to Rodney's chagrin- and shoves it in front of Sam's face.

Sam, in turn, grabs Dean's hand and empties the contents of the bowl in his hand before hunching back over it. He coughs, but the nausea doesn't really set in.

Rodney pushes the medicine over the counter and leans over, "Y'all alright there?" she says and smiles when she spots the pair of boys, "Managed to save those?"

Dean grimaces reluctantly and hands over the handful of tablets that Sam had emptied into his hand. "Yeah… " he glances back at Sam when he starts coughing again, "I think we're okay…"

"Speak for yourself," Sam said, his voice hoarse and strained, "Did you give her the M&Ms….?".

Dean ruffled Sam's hair and worked the bowl from his hands, "Yeah…" he chuckled and pulled Sam in for a hug. _Kid's still got a fever. _

"You can keep tha', hon, I think ya'll need it," Rodney said and greeted an elderly man who just walked in. She edged the meds over the counter and pointed to the one bottle on the left, "You need to take this 'bout an hour after meals… otherwise…"

Sam, as if prompted, grabbed the kidney bowl again and started coughing again. _Oh joy._

"… yeah, like _that,_" Rodney concluded.

"I'll keep that in mind," Dean grimaced. He fishes out couple of notes from his wallet and hands it over.

The older woman just pushed his hand back, "I think you should hang onto those," she said and winked at the man who walked in, "Be with you in a second, Bruce."

This time, it's Dean who turns pink. His hand wavers for a couple of seconds before finally burying the notes back into his wallet. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says with a grin.

"Heh, those charms stopped working on me a long time ago," Rodney says with a grin and reaches over the counter to get a look at Sam, "Take care now, sweetie."

"… yeah…."

They head out of the pharmacy and head back to the clinic. They take their time walking back, but stop a couple of times when Sam's convinced that the ground's moving.

Dean holds out his arms, but Sam's either too embarrassed or too stubborn to be carried. "I'm not a kid, Dean," he snaps and crosses his arms.

"Look like a kid to me," Dean mumbles, shaking his head.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything…"

Once inside the Impala, Dean manages to weasel Sam into drinking all the meds the doctor had prescribed, even though he had to introduce a more… tactile way to get Sam to drink the anti-blow-chunks meds.

Dean sits back and starts the Impala, "There! Feel better, Sammy?"

Sam yanks the bottle from his mouth and can't help but feel tempted to do the same thing to his brother, "You didn't have to force half of it down my throat, you know!" he snaps, twisting the cap back on.

"It's for your own good, Sammy," is all Sam gets as a reply.

"Don't call me that."

And so, that was that. They head to their first victim's house, readying themselves to interrogate some suspects… or just unfortunately unlucky people.

"So, sit tight, I'll be back in twenty minutes," Dean says and shuts the door.

"Why the hell should I stay here!" Sam grumbled, his voice still unnaturally youth-like.

"How will I explain a six-year old tagging along on a Federal Investigation?" Dean asks and pats the roof of the Impala, "_Take care of him, baby… _"

"I'm not a baby!" Sam yells, crossing his arms.

"I was talking to _her,_" Dean practically purrs and strokes the hood as he passes Metallicar.

"… _Ugh…. I think I'm going to be sick…_" Sam snaps, shaking his head at his brother's actions.

It gets worse when the door finally opens and a young blonde comes into view. Sam spots Dean's grin and mentally gets himself ready to endure two hours of mind-numbing boredom as he waits for his brother to finish his filandering…

That's why… he's kinda surprised when Dean emerges from the house thirteen minutes later, holding a piece of paper.

"Got this!" Dean practically cheers and hands it to Sam, "Plus, she's got _a sister!_"

"…. Umm… dude, still six…" Sam grumbles and elbows Dean, "Did you forget to ask her about-"

"-happened yesterday. Her friend apparently went to visit her grandparents' graves and didn't come back," Dean informs, but his serious face is replaced by a grin, "Zombie party!"

"Dean!"

"Yes, Samantha? Have anything to bitch about?" Dean quips, no actual malice in his voice, just anticipation of the future zombie-kill fest.

"Let's just get going… we still have two more interviews to do…" Sam says, rubbing absently at his neck again.

"Still sore, huh?" Dean says and automatically switching on the indicator for the next right turn.

"Wait! Dude, I'm fine…" Sam says, and flicks it back off.

Dean frowns and relents to driving on, "You sure?"

Sam smiles but his eyes suddenly caught the road again, "_DEAN!"_

Dean's pretty sure Sam's hallucinating again, but when he looks back…. Sure enough, there's a single man standing in the middle of the road. His clothes bloody and torn, looking as if he had been attacked by a bear.

"FU-" Dean yells, veering off to the side to avoid the guy.

Swerving violently, Dean scrambles fervently at the steering wheel, trying to stop them from fishtailing. The gravel meets the dirt and dust quickly envelops them in a cocoon. A couple of the upturned gravel flicks up into the air and ploughs through the windshield , instantly shatters the glass, but doesn't break through completely.

Dean pushes Sam back into the seat with his right-arm as he slams the breaks on. The Impala jerks abruptly, throwing them forwards as it comes to a stop.

"Let's … not…. do that again," Sam squeaks, breathing hard.

"Yeah…" Dean answers, his voice strained as well.

The Impala's engine is smoking and Sam has to cover his nose to block out the smell of burnt tires… but, none of that really mattered at the moment… not when the guy, who Dean had so velhemeltly avoided, is now standing right in from of Dean, choking him with his one arm and trying to bite Dean in the neck at the same time.

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><p><em>Whoo! First Cliffy :D<em>

_Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!_

**_Thanks for reading!_**

_Please drop me a review or pm if you liked it :D_

Coming up next: Lessons and Learning


	6. Lessons and Learning

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: I haven't worked on this for so long since I've hadn't actually had any more ideas... yeah... after this chapter I'm putting this on an indefinite hiatus. Sorry!

Thank you all though for your amazing reviews! I haven't received so many alerts and favourites for a fic as with this one... it always makes my day to see that! I hope to get back to this fic as soon as I'm inspired!

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><p>.<p>

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**_Lessons and Learning_**

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The Impala's engine is smoking and Sam has to cover his nose to block out the smell of burnt tires… but, none of that really mattered at the moment… not when the guy, who Dean had so vehemently avoided, is now standing right in from of Dean, choking him with his one arm and trying to bite Dean in the neck at the same time.

Dean's trying to pry the guy off his neck, trying to open his door and trying to reach his gun – all at the same time. But luck is not on his side, and he gets pushed back even further into his seat, trounced.

"DEAN?" Sam yells, running around the Impala as fast as he could.

_Panic isn't an exact science._

Sam lifts up the Glock from the back of his elastic-band jeans and fires to rounds, hitting the zombie square in the ear.

_Neither is Adrenalin._

Dean tumbles out the side of the Impala, grabbing his ears and hissing, "_Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn…_" he mumbles, rolling away a few times in the process. When he finally stands, it's clear that the zombie who wanted to vamp-out on Dean, was most definitely dead.

"Are you okay?" Sam yells, his eyes as wide as saucers. The Glock in his hand is rattling badly, and it's obvious that it's _not _because it's heavy.

"Didn't I tell you to stay in the car?" Dean yells, suddenly unnaturally angry, still working his right ear to try and get _some _of his hearing back.

Sam blinks. "No…?"

"….. " Dean pauses, pulling himself back to reality. The reality where his brother is just _physically _regressed. The reality where his brother was just as good, if not better, hunter than he is. He suddenly bites his lip to stop himself from continuing, he simply leans in and starts knocking at the windshield. By the third try the glass gives in and the entire windshield tumbles forwards.

Right now, Sam's on the passenger side again, looking almost as if he's about to cry. "We won't need any more interviews… I think it's safe to say, it is a zombie-hunt," he growls and climbs in. He has to use both hands to pull the Impala's door shut.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" Dean says, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

_"Shut up, you jerk..."_ Sam mumbles, pointed looking out the window to ignore his brother.

"Here," Dean says and leans over, tugs on Sam's shirt and easily gets pulls him down till Sam's flat on his back on the front seat, Sam has no choice but to follow it down. Dean lifts up Sam's feet and props them up on his lap. "You should be resting," Dean says, trying his best to still seem indifferent as he starts the Impala.

"I'll be fine," Sam snaps, groaning as he hauls himself up and returns to sitting upright, "Don't worry."

"Who's the big brother here?"

"It's not a height thing," Sam fumes, heavily debating on how viable an option walking back to the motel is.

"No. Who's the _older _brother?" Dean clarifies, without repose.

"You are…" Sam mumbles, not exactly sounding as if the answer impresses him.

"_Exactly. So,_" Dean leans over again and reclines Sam's chair again, "Lie down and shut up."

Sam's silent for a moment too long and Dean's feeling awkward about being so ... well... mean. It's not like he's got a problem being a pain-in-the-ass with Sam, in fact it's usually fun to hear Sam bitch... but now? Sam's barely three-feet tall and his puppy eyes somehow got a super-max level that seems to upgrade each day, it's pretty ridiculous how adorable he is. It's got Dean seriously debating an apology. "So... Zombies-hunt ... We should save our ammo as much as we can... we got shovels in the trunk..."

"Well, we can't use our shovels," Sam says with a roll of his eyes.

"Zombieland-expert says what?" Dean quips, hoping to lighten the mood.

Only, Sam's already out the door and pops open the boot, digs around for a moment before shutting the boot and walking back. He climbs into the Impala and holds up the object in question. "This shovel?" Sam says and lifts up the bent-all-to-hell shovel, "Is shaped like a pretzel. A salty, twisty pretzel and you're gonna miss every time! Try and be a badass when the zombies are trying to choke down your dusty grey-matter!"

Dean chuckles for a second, he forgot what a mouth Sam had on him when he was a kid. The older Winchester takes the shovel from his brother and drops it on the backseat, "Don't be such a drama-queen..." and as a _coup de grâce_ he drapes his leather jacket over his baby brother... much more emphasis on _baby_ than brother, at this time, "Try and get some sleep".

Sam's about to retort, but when he spots Dean's worried expression, he simply juts his feet up against the dash in silent protest, "Well... Don't expect me to thank you for all this," he growls... _alright, not so silent protest. _He coughs harshly for a few seconds and punches his chest a few times to get himself to stop coughing. He finally reaches in the bag at the back and takes another swig of the medicine, careful to avoid Dean's gaze when he turns back and rests his feet on the dash again.

"Don't expect me _not _to kick your ass for putting your damned dirty boots on my dash," Dean retorts and shifts the Impala in gear, "But… just for today… _because you're sick…. _You can…". He adjusts the jacket he draped over Sam again and finally drives off.

Sam, feeling a tad guilty along with the sense of arrogance that comes with being the youngest, grins, "So can we listen to Greenda-"

"_You're sick,_ not dying," Dean finally establishes the line. Oh yes, driver picks the music. But, _big brother_, picks where to cross the lines.

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><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading!<em>**


	7. Zombies and Water-works

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.

I haven't worked on this project in quite a while, but first~

A big shout-out to laurieglory, lorusgra, casammy, judyann (*hugs*) , Cornish Rhapsody (*woot*), cold kagome (Sam's still sick but still cute :D) , runaway08 (*huggles*), okayokayokay and Souless666! I really wanted to thank you so much for your reviews!

I'm on break now, so *hopefully* will get the next instalments out soon!

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><p>.<p>

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**Zombies and Water-works**

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Sam's out like a damn light.

Loosely lolling head, deep breaths and the occasional muffled cough was all that was an indicator of life from the youngest Winchester. Sammy might've caught the lesser-measles, but no Winchester has ever caught _anything _less than severe (in Dean's opinion, that is).

So, Dean's got the action plan in his brain all ready for when they get home. Blankets for Sam, meds for Sam, research on Zombies, lunch and dinner. And burgers, lots of cheese-burgers.

That's why Dean's all smiles, even after the Zombie got the drop on him… and the Impala's windshield. He's not mad though. Actually, he's a bit nostalgic, driving slowly till they reach the motel again. He knows they'll be out hunting later, but for now… Sam can just sleep. And maybe some solo-hunting might not be a bad idea… since Sam's so short and all.

When Dean finally pulls up into the parking lot, he's about to wake Sam up. Only… Sam's so out of it, he doesn't even wake up after the obligatory double-tap to the cheek. So, Dean does what he hasn't done in years. He picks Sam up and cradles him all the way to the room.

When they're finally inside the room, Dean plops Sam down on his bed and wraps the comforter around him, "There you go, taco Sam," Dean grins and checks Sam's temperature. Still a bit on the high side, but at least the meds kicked in and Sam's not hallucinating anymore.

Sleep-walking isn't out of the question though. Dean knows that. Since Sam got kid-a-fied, some of his old habits started creeping in again, and Dean knows that sleep-walking might be a possibility any time soon. But that's okay. Big Bro's got it covered.

He gets the next dose of meds ready for Sam, drops a cool washcloth on the little guy's forehead and finally, extra blanket at the feet. Sam hates it when his feet are cold. Some things just never changed.

That's all Dean's got until Sam wakes up. Which would probably be within an hour or so. That kid cat-naps like a freak when he's sick.

Bobby checks in a while later, not exactly too excited about the Winchesters' progress on this case. "Zombies, are you sure?" Bobby's got that tone again, the one he always used on John.

"Yea, ghanked one of them though, but I'm sure there are at least two more…" Dean says and answers Bobby's next question before the guy could even ask, "And no, haven't found the source."

"Why the hell not, idjit? You've been there for-"

-"Sam's sick. First he gets midget'ed and now he's got German Measles."

"What? How bad?"

"A mild fever, the huffs and puffs… but I can see he's in pain, Bobby… I don't know what to d-" Dean stops himself short. He was definitely _not_ going to go there. Not now. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, "I'm taking this hunt solo from now on."

"Might be a good idea…" Bobby says after a minute, "Just don't do anything stupid. You need back-up for this?"

"… We'll be fine," Dean snaps suddenly, instantly regretting it. He doesn't want other hunters to see Sam like this, especially now that the kid's sick. Dean feels like an ass when he mutters a 'Sorry' to Bobby. Not like Bobby would care either way –he was used to John's bedside manner- but Dean still has an awkward guilt nestling all up in his grill when Bobby tells him to call when they're done.

Dean finally sits down on his own bed, flips open Sam's computer and checks first what started the 'Day of the Dead'. Websites upon websites of 'Keep Calm and Kill Zombies' don't really cut it and 'LolZombie' distracted him long enough from his mission. And, of course, finding out any similar events of the past few years in the area was the next part of the plan… only, it's a small town and websites like popular destinations.

And, an hour later, best he got is the origins of the T-virus and a voodoo curse. Dean's leaning on the voodoo though, he knows that _that _is actually a possibility.

"DEAN~!" Sam bolts up the bed, clutching his sheets and face twisted in pain.

Before Dean even realizes it he's kneeling at Sam's side, palming his cheek and checking for injuries, "What i-is it?!" the words even come stuttering. He grins his teeth, forcing himself to focus. But, it's hard to focus when your five-year-old brother needs you with tears in his eyes.

Sam looks at Dean for a minute, as if only now realizing that he was awake. He smiles- reassured that Dean _was _there- that the werewolf hasn't chased him down and Dean hasn't disappeared. But, then it really hits him and he suddenly shrinks in on himself. He only now started realizing just how much like a kid he had become. How nightmares were suddenly friggin scary again. How small he suddenly is in comparison to the world around him. How weak he now feels. "… Sorry," he swallows hard and sighs, "Stupid nightmares…". He shakes his head, trying to stop himself from bawling like a girl

And then, when Dean sits next to him and pulls Sam into a hug, tears is all Sam can see.

It's been years upon years since Sam had actually openly cried. Years since Dean had to wake up to Sam's nightmares. Years since Sam let Dean see that part of him. Somewhere along the lines of hunting and monsters, fears were hidden away in that little box Sam stored in his brain. Sam's little box of fears… fears of shadows, thunderstorms, monsters and Dean _–not Dad-_ leaving for good.

Dean's got a firm hold on his shoulder and doesn't try to make him stop crying. That probably makes it worse.

The tears don't stop, no matter how many times Sam rubs at his eyes. His hiccups won't stop no matter how deep he tries to breathe. Sometimes his sneezes and cough come at the same time and Dean's got more tissues, pulling them out of thin air like a magician. But Sam's irritated and lonely and tired and hurt and hot and doesn't want to let go of the one part of Dean's jacket that he has a hold on.

There's no "just suck it up", "be a man", "We're hunters, Sammy" or even "Don't be such a bitch" coming from Dean. None of it. None of the usual pokes or jibs about getting sick on a hunt. Nothing.

All those years of training. Being tough enough. The obstacle courses, the weapons-training, the hunting… everything. The all-nighters studying through lore and mythology. Sam's physical body still carries the scarring and callouses… but he couldn't even open the car door on his own without trouble, let alone use his gun without almost crumbling from the kick-back… his mind still had the hunter's knowledge, but it was like, it was all worthless now. And that just sucked.

Knowing what to do and unable to do it. Not being useful. Wasn't that what Dad had always said? 'If you're not useful, you're a dead-weight'… and dead-weights need to be cut loose. That was Sam's one fear. Always. Not to be cut-off from his father, no, that wasn't Sam's worst fear. It was that Dean would realize how much better off he might be without his brother. Sam's worst fear was that Dean would leave him behind and never come back for him.

For the longest time Sam and Dean just sit there, but it's like nothing ever changed since they were kids. Dean makes sure Sam drinks enough water when he calms, checks his fever and makes sure his little brother's all medicated and wrapped up in a blanket-taco again… because, that's just what Dean always does.

The older Winchester's still sitting at Sam's side when the younger brother can't even keep his tired arms up. Sam yawns and Dean's still holding him. Sam smiles and rest his head down on Dean's arm, just this once. Maybe, for all being a kid's worth, this wasn't too bad.

Dean still just keeps rubbing Sam's back, not saying a word. And all Sam understands is: _Don't worry, Sammy. Your Big Bro's got you._

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please drop me a pm or review if you liked it, I'd really appreciate it! *hearts floating*<em>


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